Fire and Brimstone
by HighElvenWizard
Summary: Completely AU. The product of a genetic and biochemical experiment, Harry Potter is a highly-trained elite assassin who is working for a secretive organization known to some as the Order of the Phoenix. HHr. FULL SYNOPSIS INSIDE! READ IT!
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter is not mine, sadly.**

_HighElvenWizard_

_Story Description:_ Completely AU. The product of a genetic and biochemical experiment, Harry Potter is a highly-trained elite assassin who is working for a secretive organization known to some as the Order of the Phoenix. Led by an experienced and brilliant leader named Albus Dumbledore, the Order is trying to destroy evil and darkness in the world. Using questionable methods, the Order, from its bases all over the world, seeks to eradicate all signs of evil through any means necessary, whether it be peacefully or violently. But with the sudden appearance of another organization striving for world dominance, and more genetically enhanced fighters, Harry struggles with himself as the world is plunged into world war, possibly the final one... **(Harry/Hermione)**

* * *

**Fire and Brimstone**

* * *

**One  
**_I am Harry Potter_

My name is Harry. I don't have a last name, or at least a real one anyway. I guess you could call me Harry Potter. Harry James Potter.

You must be wondering why I said that I don't have a last name, but then I told you what it was. The fact of the matter is, I have no last name because I don't have any parents. You see, I was created from a test tube, a very special test tube. I am a biochemically and genetically created being, using the latest, and even the most secret, technology to make me. I was given no last name because they didn't think I'd make it, but here I am, sadly.

I'm not entirely sure what they put into me. The earliest memory I can recall is from when I was about eight years old, and even then I wasn't normal for an eight year old. I was bench pressing one-hundred and forty pounds, running miles in five minutes, and dunking on the basketball court, all while I was only about eighty pounds. They never told me what other genes besides human they put into me, or what other types of chemicals and gene manipulations they added, but suffice it to say that not all of me is human.

I believe there are some animal genes in me, plus manipulated and modified genes that made me faster, stronger, and, dare I say it, smarter than normal humans are. The only problem about all this, of course, is that I eat like I'm an animal. I'm never fully satisfied, though I can tell whether or not I have a lot of food in me, or whether its enough. I think it's a trait I inherited from some other animal, but the fact of the matter is that I need so much energy to fuel my body. Without it, I was told, I would probably go into shock and die in a matter of days.

This is, of course, why in every Order hideout, safehouse, and headquarter, there is a specific room storing food that is just for me. I also have numerous bank accounts at my disposal to buy food with, in the event that I am unable to get to any of my food stashes. I know you're wondering about what the Order is and what I'm doing with them. The story is long, and even I don't know all the details, but I'll give you the shortened version of what I know:

The Order was founded long ago by a young, extremely intelligent, and ambitious young man named Albus Dumbledore. That isn't even his whole name, which is Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore. If you ask me, his parents must have been hopped up on some kind of drug to name him that. Though I guess it doesn't have the same ring to it with just Albus Dumbledore in it.

Anyway, he was very bright, coming in at the top of his classes. He had moved around most of the Ivy League schools, never being fully satisfied with one of them for a long time. Around the time he was about to graduate, something terrible happened to his family. From what I've gathered, his family, consisting of his parents, his twin brother, and his younger sister, were killed in a bank robbery that turned into a nasty gunfight.

Devastated by this, he left school and vowed to use any means necessary to get back at all criminals around the world. His parents were wealthy, and the money he inherited with them he used to start a few companies, some of which flopped, but one of them eventually rose to dominate the globe. Phoenix Enterprises, he had named it, aptly so for he was rising from the ashes of his sorrow. Riding on the success of his company, he spread out his reach into every industry, gaining success after success. He was, very soon, almost as rich as the big man himself, Bill Gates. Almost.

But unlike Gates, who kept a lot of his money, Dumbledore spent much of it. He was young, at the time, and bought buildings, houses, and land anywhere he could. Not only did his umbrella company spread over the world, he also bought personal lands and holdings, most under different names. He had locations in London, Paris, Berlin, Moscow, Beijing, Hong Kong, Manila, Sydney, Rio de Janero, Mexico City, Toronto, Jerusalem, Cairo, and even in Antarctica! He had more, but of course I can't possibly list them all out here, plus I don't know all of them. I do know that he has places all over America.

Thinking about it is actually a little scary. If people knew the truth, they'd see the fingers of Phoenix Enterprises dug into everything, and that is a little frightening. Okay, maybe a lot. Some of the things they have in their pockets are shopping malls, oil companies, retail companies, clothing manufacturers, liquor companies, cigarette companies, and even defense contractors.

I wouldn't be surprised if they even had a few tanks and fighter planes stored somewhere in the event that they would need to go to war. Though I haven't seen any, mind you. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. The Order.

Throughout all this, he had been waiting for the perfect moment to commence his crusade against evil. All that time he had spent building the foundation of his main goal, his main drive, which was to battle evil and eradicate it from the face of the earth. Talk about ambitious. He wanted to take on _all _the evil in the _world_. Hell, even I can't do that, and I'm genetically modified!

With billions in his pocket and with material and personnel that numbered in the millions, he could create his own personal army, and he did. Thus, the Order of the Phoenix was born. Not too creative with the name, especially since he already used it, but it got the job done. Using his many privately owned and some company owned locations around the world, he slowly built the Order.

He hired only the best of the best, though not all of them could be bought of course, so he had to settle for a little less, but still. Money was not an issue, results were, and he really wanted good results. The brightest scientists, technicians, engineers, architects, designers, strategists, leaders, lawyers, and pretty much every other profession out there excluding underwater basket-weavers.

It's been twenty years since it started, and they've actually done a lot. Dozens of dangerous terrorist groups were taken care of, groups that even government agencies like the CIA, MI6, or even GSG-9 could not handle. Thousands of murderers, large and small, were killed to ensure the safety of the many who would have died from their hands, and to avenge those who were already taken. Thieves, robbers, and other criminals were stopped and eradicated from the earth so that their genes would not "contaminate the gene pool," in Dumbledore's own words.

I was their superweapon, their number one experiment. I was the "One," they said, that would "save the world." Not that it really needed much saving. After all, it's survived without me interfering with it, why shouldn't it do so for the next million years? But according to them, something big was about to happen. Maybe an invasion of zombies or aliens, or perhaps World War III, but whatever is about to happen, they haven't told me yet. But from what I've been hearing, it doesn't look so good.

So here I am, Harry, a highly-trained, genetically altered, and biochemically engineered assassin. Yes. I was made to be a killing machine. Super fast, super strong, super smart, and super skilled. I can kill someone in hundreds, if not thousands, of ways, though I generally pick the simplest and most "normal" way possible. After all, I can't let on that there's some kind of major assassin out there now, can I?

I've gone after corrupt heads of state or even lower government officials, powerful drug lords both in England and elsewhere, mob bosses, evil scientists, terrorist leaders, rebel leaders, murderers, and even other assassins. I've seen them all, from abusive fathers to greedy politicians, and it actually makes me feel good that I am doing some good in the world. Sacrifice the few to save the many, right?

I'm in New York right now, on a mission for the Order. It's a Friday, and the UN Security Council is meeting to discuss plans about what to do in the Middle East. The situation has escalated there, to the point that the Israeli's and the Iranians are at each other's throats and about to unleash havoc in the region. Iraq was only recently stabilized and U.S. troops have already pulled out, but now it seems that they'll be needed again. But there is one dissenter among them. The Russian ambassador to the United Nations, Kazimir Pankrati.

According to the Order, he means to veto and block any attempts at ameliorating the situation over in the Mideast. The Russian president, Nikolai Vasiliev, has allowed him to decide the best course of action in the matter while the president tended to domestic matters. According to my superiors, the Order cannot control the situation in the Mideast, which the Order has been having trouble pacifying. Thus, UN intervention will be needed in order to avert war, but with the Russians holding a veto and stopping them UN from intervening, there were going to be problems.

So that's why I'm here. I was in an empty apartment, the occupants having left on vacation, just down 1st Avenue. According to my sources, the ambassador was to arrive via motorcade to the UN Headquarters, and to do would have to pass by the apartment complex that I was in. I was lying down on my belly on the cold, stone floor of the balcony. The wind was a little too strong, ruffling my clothes and my hair.

I moved to a slightly more comfortable position as I held up my binoculars. Instead of steel railing, stone surrounded the balcony, which provided me with ample cover. Small holes, big enough for the barrel of my sniper rifle to fit through, were cut clean through the stone to allow wind to come through. I sighted in on the highway, which had already been blocked off by police.

A few minutes later, I spotted the motorcade. They were traveling pretty fast, so I quickly went through my routine one last time. I had special high-explosive, armor-piercing bullets, and I checked to make sure I had one in the rifle. The rifle was a single shot, but it was a powerful super-compression rifle that fired rounds at blazing speed. It reached targets a few milliseconds before other sniper rifles did, which is saying a lot about its increased firepower. Add that with high-explosive, armor-piercing rounds, and you've got a match made in heaven, for assassins who like big explosions, at least.

I looked over at the many flags that adorned the UN building, all of which were fluttering gloriously in the wind. I calculated the angle from the pole to the flag, divided it by the constant four, and got the rough estimate of the wind velocity. I was approximately a hundred meters away from my target and I adjusted my high-powered telescopic sight accordingly.

This was the exciting and nerve-wracking part of my job. Sure, the preparation and planning for it gave me some adrenaline too, but never as much as when I was actually doing the job. Once he was down, I'd have minutes to leave the area before the authorities came crashing down on me, but I was always good at that, so it didn't worry me. What worried me was that I'd fail to kill him, and it has happened sometimes. Even things I plan don't always go exactly as they should, but I always finish.

I've never failed a mission, and I wasn't about to start today.

"You got this," I told myself as I rested the gun against my shoulder, the shoulder pad pressing against my skin. I slowed my breathing, which was easily done with my genetically enhanced body, and soon I was looking through the scope.

The crosshair was digital and the range and wind readings were printed on there from a sensor at the tip of the gun barrel. Of course, I didn't have to calculate and adjust manually, but I did so anyway out of habit. You can never trust technology fully after all. The scope was designed to adjust automatically, but I had it on manual mode, so it didn't change any of the settings.

I zoomed in on the target, careful not to shoot too soon. I could hear a helicopter droning in the distance. It was probably the ambassador's air security team. I drowned out any sound as I began to get into the zone. The moment was coming, and fast, as the motorcade sped down 1st Avenue.

Little Russian flags fluttered on top of the limousine hood as I followed it. My right index finger wrapped around the trigger gently, as if caressing it, and I counted down.

"Three..."

"Two..."

"One..."

I snapped my finger back and the gun instantly recoiled, pushing back hard against my shoulder. I barely felt it due to my enhanced strength, but I knew it had kicked back hard. The other guys at the training camp were usually bruised after using it. Within a matter of seconds, I had reloaded the gun, ejecting the spent casing and grabbing a fresh one from the line of them that I had made on the floor.

I watched as the bullet impacted a little off from where I had been targeting. The front left wheel exploded in a shower of rubber as the bullet penetrated its thickened skin. The long, black vehicle vaulted into the air as a flaming ball exploded from underneath its left, front part, taking part of the forward half with it. It spun in the air, debris flying everywhere as parts of 1st Avenue showered the area.

In a crash that I heard just moments later, the limo landed on its side, underside exposed to me, and I smiled.

Perfect.

I squeezed the trigger.

The explosion was instantaneous as I watched some of the security team get flung back from the concussive blast as they tried to approach the limo. A great ball of fire engulfed the vehicle as a plume of black smoke began to rise up from the wreckage.

Satisfied that my target was eliminated, I quickly packed up, using my super speed to help me as I deconstructed my rifle and put it into the small suitcase that I was carrying. I carefully cleaned my spot, careful to stay hidden from sight from the street, and got out of there.

I could hear the police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances wailing in the distance as I walked calmly to my car. I greeted the old lady at the front desk, who smiled at me, and held the door open to three giggling kids who quickly ran to a running van. As they opened the door I caught a glimpse of a stern-looking father at the wheel, who began to talk a little angrily to the girls.

The adrenaline was still pumping in my blood, and my heart was beating faster than normal, but I kept my cool. If anyone noticed that I was trying to get away quickly, that would raise suspicion and would probably lead to an investigation. Even though my tracks were clean, that would be a nuisance, especially since there is always the chance that I left some clue behind.

I shook me head as I thought of that. I never have, and never will, or at least I liked to reassure myself like that. Besides, how would they trace me? I'm a ghost. I don't exist in any official records, except under my different aliases, of course.

I popped the trunk to my Mercedes SLR McLaren, a pretty sweet ride if I do say so myself, and put my suitcase neatly into the back. With its nice, comfortable seats, supercharged 5.5 litre V8 engine, and its sleek look, its one of my favorite cars. The engine practically purred at me as it came to life, welcoming me back into the driver's seat.

Of course, this wasn't any ordinary McLaren. I had the boys over at the Order shop give it a few _enhancements_, as I liked to call them. Hydraulics, neon underglow that I could turn on if I wanted to show off, a pair of Nitrous Oxide canisters in case I ever needed to outrun someone, like say, the authorities. It was heavier too, even with the carbon fiber that I requested. Underneath the carbon fiber was a thin layer of armor, enough to stop most bullets, at least, especially since I didn't really plan on getting shot at. It was just a precaution.

I mean, after all, anything can happen. Look at me, for instance, I'm six-foot three inches of solid muscle. Genetically modified muscle, bioengineered to be the strongest and most effective muscles in the world. My bones are fused with a strange metallic substance that hasn't been classified yet because it's not supposed to exist, except with the Order. It reinforces my bones, allowing me to handle the pressure applied by my muscles without shattering any of my bones. My skin was genetically and biologically enhanced to handle different pressures better, so now when I go on planes my ears will never pop. I also can dive deeper than anyone else due to my ability to stay intact even with a large amount of pressure crushing down on me. I am super strong after all. I haven't tried it, but it must feel uncomfortable down there.

I turned on the computer that was attached to my dashboard and quickly opened up a program that allowed me to tap into any police radio frequencies I wanted with a touch of a button. So I touched the button.

"...sador is down, I repeat! His vehicle just blew up!" one man frantically yelled into the radio.

"We know already, stop clogging the line!" yelled another.

"All units this is dispatch. Just got word that the FBI are taking control. They're already en route, advise that you boys lock down the area and secure it, over," said a policewoman.

"Roger that, Sarah. This is unit five-six-nine, I'll assume temporary command until the feds get here... Damn, that's one helluva crash," a male voice came on.

"Understood captain, I'll inform the feds."

I turned the program off as the light turned green and I floored the accelerator. It was one of those rare moments in New York when the road was not blocked by cars, but as I turned two lights down, a sea of red filled my vision and I sighed. New York traffic was... well, unequaled.

The mission was a success, and I smiled because of that. My superiors would be happy and I helped ease the way for the UN to intercede in the Mideast. One life for that was a good trade-off in my opinion. I am a trained killer after all. That's what I do, that's what I'm here for.

So that's me, Harry. Super assassin, saver of the world, genetically-modified human, and badass, or at least I think of myself that way.

With nothing to do but wait as the slower-than-snail-pace traffic centimeter'd along, I turned on the radio. That's when I heard something that shocked me enough for my heart to skip a beat and for me to forget about breathing.

"_...firmed reports that Iran has launched an invasion of Iraq. Iranian military forces are already nearing Baghdad, the new Iraqi army being blown wide open by the Iranians... Saudi Arabia has announced that it will stop oil shipments to anyone in league with the United States, and it appears that the Saudi Arabian military has gone on high alert. Iranian military personnel were seen, earlier this week, talking to the king of Saudi Arabia... Israel has mobilized all military forces and are sending them to their borders, but the Prime Minister has announced that he has no intentions of invading anyone... Syria has declared itself in support of Iran, as well as Pakistan, which has announced a military treaty between the two countries... _"

More news about the situation followed, but the harsh reality of it all was hard to swallow, even for me. It had started. I was too late. Numerous if-statements followed my train of thought. What if I had killed him earlier? What if I had done this or done that... but it was no use, I realized. Even if I had killed him earlier, the UN would have actually postponed the meeting further, but now they must decide, without the Russian ambassador, which - I just realized - might complicate cooperation from Russia.

After all, the Russians had supported Iran's bid for nuclear power and had also given them military equipment as well as political support. The death of the ambassador here might send the wrong signal to the Russians and might actually get them to side with Iran against the United States. This logic quickly clicked in my mind and I sat, completely stunned and horrified, at what had just happened and what might happen because of what I had done.

What have I done?

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**Author's Notes: **Tell me what you think. 


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter is JK Rowling's creation, not mine.**

_HighElvenWizard_

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**Fire and Brimstone**

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**Two  
**_Heading for Hell_

"Damn," I whispered to myself as I waited inside the NYC Order Headquarters. The Order owned the entire building, though there were different companies housed within. All of which, if someone dug deep enough, were owned by either Phoenix Enterprises or Dumbledore. The nondescript building kept the people outside oblivious to the true nature of what was going on within; it was better that way.

I had cursed because I had a nasty feeling that I was going to the mideast. My sensitive hearing had picked up a few conversations between my commander and his secretary, a lovely, but tough, woman of about thirty. Kate, I remember her name was, short for Kateline, but that's where my knowledge of her ended. I had never bothered to find out more about her, and the only times I ever saw her was when I was to report to Commander Kane.

The first time I heard his name, I remember feeling a tiny ounce of nervousness, though of course I quelled that feeling. The name speaks for itself, really, and to tell the truth it actuall describes him well. Just saying the name "Kane" brings to mind strength, power, and awe. I heard that he had risen through the ranks quickly, his skill, intelligence, and efficiency proving themselves a deadly combination.

There was a rumor that on one of the Order's most important missions so many years ago, he was the only one to survive out of a six-man team. The Order heads, Dumbledore included, saw this as a sign and decided to keep him away from the field. They saw much more profit in using his abilities to command from an office safely, than to risk losing his talents in the field.

"Lieutenant," the strong, but polite, voice of Kate rang out at me, "the commander will see you now."

I thanked her and walked through a pair of thick, wooden doors; they were soundproof and bulletproof, but they were also given a new fireproof layering. The office was large, occupying a little more than a quarter of the entire level. It was a corner office, allowing for a greater view of the city, though there was not much to see. The walls were a dark marble-like stone, but I knew that just an inch deeper and it would be pure steel.

The windows were thick, heavy enough to stop a bullet and were also shatter-proof, so the office was basically one of the safest places in the building.

My gaze flew outward, and I could see the Statue of Liberty as she stood proudly in all her green majesty, her torch-hand tirelessly held high as she clung to her sacred tablet of principles.

Off to one side was an entertainment area of sorts, with an array of comfy looking couches and chairs. A dark, wooden cabinet stood facing this assortment of seats, a large flatscreen tv stood gloriously at the center of the cabinet. I doubt it had ever been used.

Near the corner where the windows of the two separate sides of the building met, was Kane's official office area. My eyes fell upon him then, and I noticed he hadn't looked up at me at all as he was highly engrossed in something that was on his desk. The desk was, just like the cabinet, dark and wooden. Intricate patterns were carved into it, but they were random, at least to me, and held no meaning.

I quickly walked over to the desk, sitting down on one of the two chairs that were in front of it, and waited for him to acknowledge me. I had done this a million times, and almost every time it was the same. I would wait for him for a few minutes before he told me of my next mission and all the other details. We never spoke of anything else except business, for there was no time to wasteafter all, especially with me being one of their secret weapons.

I did not have to wait long.

"You know what's going on in the mideast?" it was more a statement than a question, but I answered it anyway.

"Yes, sir." I still had to be respectful, especially to a superior officer, but don't let the ranks fool you. It's just a heirarchy thing meant to organize the Order. In truth, our ranks only work within the Order itself, nowhere else, though all operatives had aliases, some of which were the same rank as our Order rank for actual military branches.

He nodded, "Good."

He went silent, so I decided to study him as I usual did when I was in his office. He was a large man, though in the muscular sense, and was actually a good two inches taller than me. He seriously looked like a man that you would not want to mess with, like that bouncer at that popular club who looks like he had just gotten out of a steroid factory. He was bald, which made him look even more like a "do not screw with me" kind of person. He had thick facial hair, more moustache than beard, that circled his mouth, giving him a hardened, grizzly look, and it contributed to his overall menacing look.

"You're going."

Surprise, surprise.

"When?" I asked, starting to get a little curious. I have been in a warzone before, but never for long periods of time, and never for any other reason besides killing some important military or political figure, so you can forgive my curiosity.

"The chopper's already on it's way, Harry. Ten minutes," he replied, still not looking up from what he was reading. He frowned a little, his eyes narrowing as theymoved back and forth, reading the papers.

"What's the objective?"

"You'll be briefed upon arrival by a higher command, that's all I know," he looked up at me then, "but from what I do know, it's something big. It's a top priority mission for the Order, and you won't be going in alone."

"I'll have a team?" I asked, careful to hide my annoyance at that. Teams were cumbersome, in my opinion, and although they had their uses, I preferred to work alone.

"You can count on it. There'll be equipment already there for you, so you don't need to bring anything 'cept yourself. Take care out there," and with that he dismissed me, returning to his papers and picking up the phone. He was talking to someone when I left, and he wasn't happy.

* * *

Helicopters are loud.

I don't know how close you've ever been to one, but it's really deafening when you get up close and personal with it. You can barely hear yourself talk, but I gotta admit, it's fun riding them. I was never afraid of heights, so I always enjoyed dangling my feet of the edge if I was on an open chopper, though for the most part the choppers I've been on had doors. This one did, so I didn't have the opportunity to dangle my feet.

The roar of the spinning blades and the whine of the engine died down somewhat as I shut the door. An operative, dressed in a black uniform with standard Kevlar-III armor and a 9mm sidearm, sat opposite me. He gave the pilots the thumbs up as I strapped myself in, and they nodded. Soon, we were in the air.

* * *

The trip was long enough that I had some time to ponder once again what I had done. I had not heard anything about what was currently happening with the UN, or the Mideast, but I could guess. I chose not to for the moment.

The chopper landed with a slightly jarring bump. I watched as the operative opened the door and the bright sunlight filtered through the open hatch. I didn't have time to squint as my pupils adjusted themselves instantly.

There were three other Order operatives there, all of them wearing all-black uniforms, but this time, instead of just the standard 9mm sidearm, they also had sub-machine guns wrapped around their necks. They weren't exactly in combat mode, but they were getting there, which made me slightly uneasy once more. The three saluted and I saluted back, before they broke their stances and told me to follow them.

The chopper was already in the air by the time we were halfway to the docks. We formed a little four-car caravan, all four cars being huge, black, and unmarked SUVs. I had been informed of our destination, but that was the only piece of information I got from them. They had just about as much of an idea of what was happening as I did.

We reached the docks about five minutes later, all four cars rolling to a stop inside an enormous warehouse, large enough to have a big rollercoaster ride in. It was when I looked at what was inside that I realized why they had made it so big.

There was a battleship in there.

I kid you not, there was one huge battleship, and it towered over us like the behemoth that all battleships are. I heard some of the men in the vehicle take in sudden breaths at seeing it. I could tell that they were a little nervous about what was going on, but they kept silent.

We unloaded in a matter of seconds. I realized that these guys were hired mercs, probably ex-army or ex-Special Forces of some type, since Phoenix Enterprises always did get the best of the best. The soldiers unloaded the cargo in each of the SUVs, mostly weapons and ammo, but some camping gear as well.

We were escorted by yet another group of soldiers, this time they were in heavy battle armor, Kevlar-IV, and wore armor on their shoulders, forearms, shins, and knees. There was some thicker, but more flexible, Kevlar-II for their other exposed areas. The soldiers carried the cargo while I pretty much took myself. I was armed with a few things, like knives and two sidearms, and some extra ammo, but that was mainly what I brought. I hadn't even gotten any clothing, since I knew they would have taken care of that already.

The mercs were instructed to head a different direction while I was taken to somewhere else, where, I was almost certain of it, Dumbledore and whoever else made up my team, were. After all, something this big probably had Dumbledore's attention, not to mention the extra security and the big guns.

I was led into a large meeting room, but only a few of the seats were taken. Dumbledore looked up, his long, gray beard flowing slightly from the movement, and he smiled, though I noticed it was a tense one. There was no twinkle in his eye, which I usually saw when he was calm or relaxed.

I looked around the room, noticing the five other people that were there, and I realized that I knew them all, or at least I had seen their files. I wasn't supposed to hack into the system, but hey, I was bored.

I paired their callsigns with each of them.

Hermione Granger - _Owl_

Ronald Weasley - _Eagle_

Ginevra Weasley - _Fox_

Neville Longbottom - _Rhino_

Yeah, funny how they have callsigns. I don't, apparently, though I had a funny feeling I would get one for this mission. So first things first, what do their callsigns mean. Well, their files didn't really explain why, but I gathered enough information to take a pretty good guess as to why they were called that. Let's start with _Owl_.

She's the _Owl_ because she's usually the brains of any operation she's involved with, at least that's what I think. She seems to have more of a planning, quick-thinking, support role in her missions, so I assume that is why she is called that. She also could possibly see things that most people don't see because of her intelligence and quick mind.

_Eagle_, well, he supposedly has incredible vision and extremely proficient with any rifle. He can shoot a penny from more than three miles away, apparently. He also plays a planning role, since he usually has a good visual over the operation and so can relay information, like an eagle scanning the ground for prey.

_Fox _is kind of a mystery to me. Her file was not really very informative, since it seems she goes on the longer missions, and so has less time to put more into her file. I would think she is the spy, infiltrator, sort of person, since foxes can dart in their and usually stealthily try to do things.

Last but not least, _Rhino_. The name sort of speaks for itself, really. He's the heavy weapons guy, very efficient with the large guns, ie. .50 or .75 cal, gattling guns, rocket launchers, mortars, mines, etc. He busts in their with his heavy armor and his overall large physique and wreaks havoc. Not very secretive or stealthy, but it gets the job done. He's been wounded a lot, but he supposedly has fast regenerative cells.

Oh right, I forgot to mention that. We're all kind of the same. I say kind of because I am unique in that I have everything in me, so I have all of what they have, except of course, since it's all mixed and mashed together, I am not really extremely proficient at one specific area, unlike them.

"Now I am sure you already know what is happening in the Middle East, and yes that is why you are here, but it is not to stop this... war. No, we cannot get involved with that yet, but soon. First, we must focus on our assets in the Middle East that are in jeopardy. We've recently lost contact with some of our bases and outposts all across the Mideast," Dumbledore began, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table as he clasped his hands together.

"Our assets there are extremely important, and as you know, we never leave a man," he paused and looked at the two women in the group, "or a woman, behind."

We all looked at each other during that pause, before returning to looking at Dumbledore. I had never met them before, and they had never met me before, though I do believe that they've worked together in the past, at least in some capacity. I just hoped they wouldn't get in my way.

"Your first destination," he threw out unopened manila envelopes at us, labeled **TOP SECRET **in red ink, "is Baghdad, since that is the hottest place right now, and we need to get our assets out and secured as soon as possible. You will be going in hot, expect heavy resistance if you encounter any, since Baghdad will be a warzone by the time you get there."

I opened the folder as he was talking and poured over the contents. We were to secure a small Order building in Baghdad, evac the people still inside, secure any files, and then extract. It seemed easy enough on paper, but it always did. Always.

"We will provide you with the latest equipment, mind you some of it we have not fully tested, so you should be wary. I cannot wait any longer and time is running out for our assets in the Mideast. You will get further missions and briefings via SatCom as you complete them, since there is no point in knowing all of what you are doing, it will serve only to distract you. Finish your tasks quickly, efficiently, and of course, successfully. You _are_ the best of the best, and I expect every one of you to understand the importance of what you are doing there," he spoke with a commanding voice, one that made you really listen and understand.

"You will be flown to the outskirts of the city, dropped to one of our remote outposts, where your equipment is waiting. You will receive more intel as soon as you land. Goodluck, your flight leaves in.." he paused to check his wristwatch, "exactly twenty-two minutes."

We had not time to talk, save give each other a quick lookover of appraisal, before we were escorted double time back to the SUVs. The drivers floored it as soon as we got in. It all happened so fast that we were still somewhat processing what happened and what was about to happen. I said nothing as we drove, and neither did anyone else, each one of us inside our own thoughts.

Do you know the term, "going to hell in a handbasket?" Well, that's us.

We're going to hell in a plane.

_Fasten your seatbelts and make sure all tray-tables and seatbacks are secured in the upright and locked position..._

**Author's Notes: **Well, it's been a while, hope you still like it.


End file.
